Farming Life Starting in Africa

Thinking of this, Rosen took out his phone, found Fahd's number, and pressed the call button.

Surprisingly, it actually went through this time.

Rosen's lips twitched. "Fahd, my brother! You're still alive?"

A hoarse laugh came from the other end of the phone, "Hey! Honey Badger, don't you Chinese have an old saying that bad people live a thousand years? Hahaha! I'm living just fine!"

"You certainly have a good sense of self-awareness," Rosen couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, brother, you told me last time you could find the Iron Army's hideout, how could you forget about that?"

"Hey, this is getting really chaotic!" Fahd's voice carried a hint of relief, "I just got word that the Red Turban Army has broken in. If I hadn't run fast, I definitely wouldn't have gotten this call from you."

Rosen was utterly exasperated with this government officer. Every time fighting broke out, he was the first to run away. It was a miracle if an army like that could win a battle.

"Then tell me the address. I need to go and ransom the hostages."

"Huh? That's a huge sum of money!" Fahd's voice suddenly rose eight octaves. "Are you paying this ransom on behalf of your country?"

"I'm only bringing my friends back, that's all. Keep it a secret!"

Rosen wouldn't say much to Fahd; there were definitely informants from the Iron Army and the Red Turban Army within their government forces.

"Alright then," Fahd said in a low voice. "The address is southeast of Pamanto, in a mine belonging to a Middle Eastern mining company. We're not able to go to rescue them right now."

"Didn't the people from Ivia arrive?"

"Sigh, they left at noon; their country has just experienced chaos."

"Holy crap? Ivia's in trouble too?"

"I heard that Zaka's men took advantage of the insufficient defenses in their capital and stormed in, and now they're fighting in the streets."

Rosen suddenly felt that this land was beyond saving. With years of fighting, it was a luxury for ordinary people to live a good life. No wonder they generally had short lifespans.

Fahd paused, then suddenly changed the subject: "By the way—tell that bastard of your uncle, the price he charged me for those goods was fucking outrageous! I only realized how much of a rip-off he was after I had the stuff hauled to Ivia. That old bastard, I hope I never run into him again—if I do, I'm definitely going to…"

Rosen hung up the phone immediately.

If you do business with Qian Bida and he doesn't make you lose a lot of money, he can even call himself a "benevolent philanthropist."

Just then, the door to the inner room creaked open, and Patrick came out. He had been eavesdropping for quite some time inside, speaking in his half-baked Chinese.

"Boss." The big, dark-skinned man rubbed his hands together, his palms sweaty. He swallowed hard. "Could you take me with you? I can be your driver. You know how good I am... I want to give Fatima a more stable life."

All eyes in the room turned to Rosen, who stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Patrick, we might not come back alive from this trip."

"I know," Patrick said earnestly, but his clenched, white fists betrayed his nervousness.

Rosen had known this black guy for a long time. He knew that Patrick was pretty reliable.

He was confident he could beat those bunch of idiots, but if he brought others along, he couldn't guarantee his little secret wouldn't be exposed. However, having more backup would make things much better; at least there would be an extra driver to haul the equipment.

"You'll drive for me tomorrow and follow behind us," Rosen thought for a moment. "If we clash with the Iron Army, you're in charge of rushing in to provide backup."

Patrick immediately smiled. "Okay, boss!"

He wisely refrained from mentioning payment. At Rosen, it was always a matter of how much work you did, and Patrick knew this rule all too well.

The more dangerous the job, the higher the pay. If he could earn a few thousand dollars on this trip, he could improve Fatima's life, and perhaps marrying her sister wouldn't be so difficult.

Just then, Rosen's phone vibrated; a call from Pan Wenjia had finally arrived.

He dialed the number, and Miao Feng's colleague, Lao Tian, ​​answered.

It was from Lao Tian that Rosen learned that Miao Feng, that unlucky kid, had also been kidnapped.

However, he was kidnapped not by the professionals from the Iron Army, but by villagers near the base station.

The ransom was originally $10,000. Later, when those guys heard that the Steel Army had raised their ransom, they raised theirs accordingly.

"These kidnappers are even hedging their bets based on market conditions?" Rosen thought to himself.

He found out the location for paying the ransom: next to an abandoned base station 80 kilometers to the east. Then, amused, he hung up the phone.

"This ransom is even at seafood prices." Rosen shook his head, feeling a bit of a headache. So, this price increase was his fault? He'd obstructed the robbers' work, and yet their prices had increased. This didn't make sense; according to economic principles, market competition should have driven down prices!

Listening to this, Leng Feng truly understood the consequences of paying ransom to kidnappers. These kidnappers were one-off businesses; they could raise the price at will, and if they got angry, they might even kill the hostage.

Moreover, he hadn't expected that after the kidnappers got their hands on the ransom, they would specifically target Chinese people. Every penny of ransom paid was a knife plunged into the next victim.

In fact, the government discourages families from paying ransoms in such cases. Especially in kidnapping cases in Southeast Asia, without a reliable intermediary, it's basically a waste of money.

That evening, the group inspected both vehicles they would be using the next day.

When Zhou Weijie saw the BJ40 that Rosen had just built, its silver steel plates were covered in dents and small bumps, and even the thickened bulletproof glass had many white spots. Then he looked at the Monster pickup truck with an anti-aircraft gun mounted in the back, and was instantly speechless.

What would be considered "over-armored" and "over-firepower" anywhere else has become standard equipment at Rosen.

However, he still felt that Rosen's paranoia was actually put to good use.

With these two vehicles around, their chances of escaping unscathed increased considerably.

If Rosen weren't worried about making too much noise, he would have driven over in a tank. But if a tank went, there would be nowhere to hide in this area, and they would be spotted very far away. In that case, they might only be able to bring back a bunch of corpses.

After thinking about it, Rosen decided to keep a low profile.

Early the next morning.

Before dawn, the two cars and four people set off from Uller. The headlights cast two yellow beams of light in the dim light, illuminating the bumpy dirt road ahead.